Homily for 26 May 2015

26 May 2015

It seems like the Church is always trying to squeeze something out of us.  More money, more hours of volunteer time, more time in prayer, more money, more commitment to the faith, more money.  Of course, that’s not just our imagination; it’s real.  We Catholics place a high value on the idea of “giving,” the idea of “sacrifice.”

And that’s because we know that “it’s in giving that we receive;” “a hundred times more” than what we give.  As we heard yesterday, sacrifice opens the door to freedom and life.  It’s a lesson we learn from Jesus’ Passion, death, and Resurrection.  It’s a lesson we learn every time we do something nice for somebody just for the joy of giving.

It’s a lesson we learn every time we come to Mass.  The bread and wine are brought forward from the people.  They’re offered, given, sacrificed.  And then they come back to the same people—not as bread and wine—but as something infinitely greater: the Body and Blood of Christ.

God doesn’t ask to give what we don’t have; he asks us to give out of what we do have.  Some people in the parish are economically poor—and so, God doesn’t ask them to give so much money.  Some people in the parish have no musical ability—and so, God doesn’t ask them to join the choir or lead the people in singing.

God doesn’t ask the impossible; he asks us to consider what is possible.  From whatever blessings God has given us, we give some of them back . . . here at the altar, and out there in the day-to-day world.  And we don’t give them back, we don’t sacrifice them, we don’t give of our gifts and talents so we can be poor.  We give and sacrifice so that, just like the bread and wine, those same gifts can come back to us a hundredfold.  We give so that we can share in the riches of Christ, the riches of real life and happiness.

The Church is always trying to squeeze something out of us.  But with the right attitude toward giving and sacrifice, that “squeeze” might begin to feel more like . . . joy; the joy of letting go, the joy of trusting God, the joy of giving and receiving.               

Homily for 25 May 2015

25 May 2015

On this Memorial Day, we Americans remember those who gave their lives in service to our country.  We remember those who gave their lives in service to an idea—the idea of real freedom; freedom from tyranny and injustice, freedom from oppression and death of the human spirit.  Through death and sacrifice, we can live in relative freedom.

But, while we are a free country, it’s fair to say that many of us and our friends are captives.  We can so easily be captive to: addictions, food, social media, fear, pride, and many other things that can enslave us and make us less than free.  The rich man who comes to Jesus is on the verge of freedom, but he’s too enslaved by his possessions to be really free. 

But Sirach reminds us that “God provides a way back;” that he is hope for the hopeless and truth for those in doubt.  Jesus tells the rich man to sell his things, give to the poor, and follow him.  In other words, Jesus asks the rich man to die a certain death.  He asks him to sacrifice what he sees as valuable for something he knows is even more precious.

Sacrifice is the “way back.”  And that’s what the Lord asks of us.  He asks us to sacrifice for the greater good—for the real freedom that comes with being a disciple of Jesus.  The rich man asked, “What must I do to inherit the kingdom?”  And we each ask, “What must I do to live in honest-to-goodness freedom?”   To that, Jesus says: Give yourself, body, mind, and soul over to that idea—that idea of heavenly freedom.  Let nothing stand in your way, not even your possessions. 

We remember today those who gave their lives for the idea of freedom and life, embodied by the ideals of our country.  And we, too, can give our lives for the idea of heavenly freedom and life, embodied by the ideals of the Catholic nation around the world: believers who sacrifice for and are dedicated to a greater good: the kingdom of heaven.

Real freedom comes through sacrifice.  History and our Lord show us that.  They go hand-in-hand: sacrifice and freedom, freedom and sacrifice.

Homily for 24 May 2015 Pentecost

24 May 2015

Solemnity of Pentecost (Vigil and Day)

As we progress through the liturgical year, the mysteries that we celebrate become increasingly hard to grasp.  In Advent and Christmas, we have pregnancy and birth, new life.  We can relate to that.  And then in Lent, we can relate to what Jesus did, being in a time of personal trial and self-reflection.  We can relate to that.

But then we come to Holy Week, and our imagination has to kick in a little bit.  We know what the Last Supper was about, and yet, there’s something deeper there that can escape.  The same goes for Good Friday.  We might know what physical and spiritual suffering is like, but none of us has been crucified.  None of us has been in a grave—except, maybe metaphorically speaking.  It’s harder to relate to that dark and good Friday.

And then there’s the Resurrection.  We get it.  We understand it: Jesus rose from the dead.  And yet, who of us has seen a person literally rise from the dead?  We know Jesus did.  But that reality is out of our field of experience.  We celebrate the Resurrection, and then just last weekend the Ascension of Christ into heaven; we celebrate them, but it’s so very hard to relate to them.

And then we come to today: the idea of the Holy Spirit of God coming down upon us.  We celebrate it . . . but what in the world does it mean?  And maybe that’s the problem: there’s not much in the world to relate it to.  Scripture gives us the images of a dove, of tongues of fire, of a “power” (for lack of a better word) that inspires us to seek God, that brings life to dead and dry things; a power that makes us alive and whole again, that brings new things into being.

The only “thing” in the world that does those things and which is symbolized by a dove and fire and power is the Holy Spirit.  There’s nothing else like it.  We’ve arrived at a time in our liturgical year when the mystery we celebrate is very, very hard to grasp.  And perhaps that’s right.  The Holy Spirit should be hard to grasp.  And that’s because the Holy Spirit isn’t meant to be grasped; he is meant to be received . . . with openness.

As we hear in Scripture, the Holy Spirit overshadowed Mary and she was found to be with child, she was found to be pregnant—but only because she said “yes.”  She was open to the Holy Spirit, and that Spirit did great things through her—but only because she said “yes.”  The Holy Spirit came upon Jesus at his baptism; in his baptism Jesus said “yes” to the will of his Father.  When the disciples were all gathered in one place, together in a spirit of prayerful openness to God, the Holy Spirit came upon them and filled them with new life.

The Holy Spirit is meant to be received and never grasped at.  The Holy Spirit should be hard for us to get a handle on.  This Spirit of God who comes upon us is great mystery, for sure.  Who is he?  What is he like?  Does he look like anything other than a dove or a flame?  It’s hard to relate to a mystery.  But this “mystery” isn’t something that remains hidden.  The Holy Spirit isn’t someone to fear.  Instead, the mystery of the Holy Spirit is the fact that we’ll never reach the bottom of all he has to share.

We’ll never be able to enjoy the Holy Spirit enough!  That’s the great mystery that washes over us with Pentecost: the mystery of . . . life, the mystery of rebirth; the mystery of God’s peace and joy, his love and patience, kindness and generosity; the mystery of God’s faithfulness to a community of faithful sinners, his gentleness and self-control in the face of criticism and false accusation.

All that’s good comes from the Holy Spirit.  And there’s a lot of goodness in the world.  The very fact that we exist is from God.  The fact that we can wake up in the morning and appreciate the sunrise and the birds chirping; the fact that we can smell the rainfall and look into another’s eyes are gifts from God.  Our ability to make music, to go to the ballgame and enjoy family and friends, our ability to fall in love and to be in love is a gift from God, a gift from the heart of God, the Holy Spirit.

The most basic gift of the Holy Spirit to us is the ability to share in God’s power to create and recreate life.  All those things: seeing, touching, tasting, loving, crying, enjoying . . . all those things are part of life.  But the most important part of life—that is, in the act of creating and recreating life—is when we reach out.  When we step outside of ourselves and live and act for the good of others, we create and recreate life . . . both in ourselves and in others.

At Pentecost, we celebrate all the wonders that God has given us and continues to give us.  But above all, we celebrate our God-given—Holy Spirit-given—power to love intentionally.  That’s at the heart of who we are as a Church, as families, as individuals.  It’s at the heart of the New Evangelization.  Reaching out to others and saying, “Here I am,” is where life happens.

Today we remember our most basic act of reaching out.  We remember that prayer which is at the root of all our hope and all our life: “Come, Holy Spirit.” 

“Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and they shall be created.”

Homily for 23 May 2015

23 May 2015

I suppose St. Paul could’ve been easily distracted; I mean, being imprisoned, having people all around him trying to accuse him or even have him put to death.  There’s a lot that could’ve distracted Paul from his mission.  But, amazingly, he stayed right on course.  He didn’t waver from the task, the mission, the life Christ had called him to.

St. Paul sets a pretty high standard of faithful discipleship.  But I imagine most of us are more like Peter.  We just heard yesterday how Peter declared his love for Jesus and how he heard the Lord’s call to “follow me.”  But today, right off the bat, Peter is distracted by another disciple.  He’s wondering more about the disciple-whom-Jesus-loved rather than Jesus.

We strive to be like St. Paul is following the Lord, but we’re more often like St. Peter—at least, St. Peter in his early years as an Apostle.  We get distracted.  Life around us pulls us away from the Lord.  You know, things like: paying the bills, getting the work done around the house, going from one meeting to the next.  Even good things like raising a family and doing charitable work can distract us from the Lord.

And it’s not that we should put up blinders to all those things.  We certainly shouldn’t put up blinders to the needs of our neighbors and the troubles of the world.  That would go against the commandment to love our neighbors.  Instead, Jesus is saying: Put me first.  Follow me, and be anchored in me.

And that’s very wise, of course.  If we remain close to Christ, then we begin to see life around us through the eyes of Christ.  When we see tragedies and injustice in the world, we can remember to actually pray for our enemies.  When the kids are getting on your nerves, you can remember to be patient as Christ is patient with us. 

When Jesus says, “Follow me,” he means to say, “See the world as I see it.  Love others as I love them.  Weep for wrongdoing as I do, and be happy with those who are happy.”  In other words, live life, but not without Christ, who helps us to interpret and make sense of life.

There are lots of things in life to distract us from the Lord.  The challenge is to go through life with Christ always at our side.  Then we can live life and understand it, not with our human wisdom, but with the wisdom of God.

Homily for 22 May 2015

22 May 2015

It’s easy for us to hear the word “love” just thrown around.  You know, things like: “I love the Packers;” or “I love the way so-and-so talks;” or “Love is love, it doesn’t matter who loves who.”  In the gospel, we hear the word “love” quite a bit, too.

“Yes, Lord, you know I love you,” says Peter.  Again and again, “Yes, Lord, I love you.”  But this isn’t any ordinary love Jesus and Peter are talking about.  This is the kind of love that means you’ll “stretch out your hands, and someone else will . . . lead you where you do not want to go.”  It’s not a “feel-good” love.  It’s not caught up in politics and political correctness.  It’s not thrown about casually.

It’s a love that means I’m yours—body, mind, soul.  It’s a love that means everything I have is yours, and everything that’s yours you share with me.  It means I’ll go anywhere you go, even—as happened with St. Paul—into the trials and hardships of persecuted for the faith.  The love of God Peter and all of us commit ourselves to is certainly something to enjoy.  It should bring us into a profound sense of . . . God’s enduring presence.  But, above all, this love is something to embrace, regardless of what happens because of it. 

In just a couple days now, we’ll be celebrating the coming of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of divine Love.  And, while it certainly is a day to celebrate, it’s also a day to recall what this gift of the Holy Spirit means.  Yes, it’s the “birthday of the Church.”  But it’s the birth of something new within each of us.  And that something new is a deeper and more serious commitment to the implications of what it means to have God’s Holy Spirit of Love within us. 

The coming celebration of Pentecost is a chance to celebrate again the lavish gift of his love that God pours out on us.  But it’s also a time to remember our response to that Holy Spirit—a response which is our own lavish gift of ourselves to the Will of God.  Jesus asked Peter and he asks us: “Do you love me?”  “Well, yes, Lord, you know I love you.”

If that be the case—that we accept God’s love, that we ask the Holy Spirit to “come,” enter our minds and bodies and souls—if that be the case, then we should be prepared to follow the Will of God wherever he leads us; not as a mindless slave, but as an intentional and true friend of our Lord.

It’s easy for the word “love” to be thrown around today.   But for us Christians, love defines who we are: self-giving, joyful, committed, faithful in both good times and in bad.  And so, we take “love” seriously.  And in the depth of real love, we find true love and joy.

Homily for 21 May 2015

21 May 2015

In just three days we’ll be celebrating the coming of the Holy Spirit, the “Advocate,” as Jesus calls him.  But the Holy Spirit isn’t the only Advocate.  Jesus himself is our Advocate, our Comforter, the One who comes close to us and stays with us.

His prayer to the Father—that we all might be one with each other, and one with him and the Father—sounds so much like a parent who’s just hoping and praying that their little child will be able to make it through the first day of school.  He’s like a parent who stoops down to hold his arms out, encouraging a little toddler to walk.

Jesus is there for us, but he knows we have to do the walking.  We have to learn to stand up for what’s right and just.  He’s right there to support St. Paul during his trials in Jerusalem.  And he’s right here with us now, and wherever we are, to strengthen us, to guide and protect us.  He’s always there, praying for us.

In another three days, with the celebration of Pentecost, we’ll remember just how much he’s “there for us.”  He’s there in all his ascended glory, encouraging on us through the good times and the bad.  “Come on, you can do it.  With me by your side, you can do anything.”   

Homily for 20 May 2015

20 May 2015

When Saint Pope John XXIII went to bed every night, he’s known to have said in prayer: “Well, I did the best I could. . . . It’s your Church, Lord!  I’m going to bed.  Good night.”  That doesn’t mean he didn’t care about the Church.  On the contrary, he cared enough to realize that God is God, not him.  What a better place to lay all the troubles, concerns, and happenings of the Church than into the hands of God.

That’s what St. Paul did when he left the Church in Ephesus.  And what a beautiful line from him we hear today: “And now I commend you to God and to that gracious word of his that can build you up.”  Those are words of faith and hope.  And what a way to love someone: to pray for them, to entrust them to the good will of God.

Even Jesus—the Son of God—didn’t try to be the eternal Father to his followers.  Instead, he prayed that the Father might “keep them in his name,” and be a Father to them as he is to the Son.  And so, every time we pray the Our Father, we can really pray “our Father.”  And we can call him that because Jesus loved us enough to leave us in the Father’s care.

And so, when we try to evangelize, when we try to invite others into God’s ways, the most loving thing we can do is to leave them in the hands of God.  We do the best we can to share the Gospel of peace, forgiveness, and mercy.  We do the best we can to help build the Church.  But, at the end of the day, the most loving thing we can do is let God take it.

It’s a sign of faith, hope, and charity to be able to say to others: “And now I commend you to God.”  “I did the best I could. . . . It’s your Church, Lord!  I’m going to bed.”